Packing for the Assassin on the Go
by DrawMeASheep
Summary: COMPLETE. An official Moussad field guide. Unscenes from Jet Lag.
1. Chapter 1

Disclaimer: Nobody likes a know-it-all iguana.

Spoilers: _Jet Lag_. Oh yes.

Summary: They foolishly decided not to steal NCIS:LA's time slot to make this a two-hour ep and include all the fun stuff. But never you fear.

* * *

_1. Always travel light. _

* * *

Ziva discovered that her tea was just right as she set her overnight bag on the shelf behind her desk and sat to check her voicemail. She had returned all four calls and confirmed the five o'clock flight from Dulles online by the time she heard the chime of the elevator followed by Tony's voice. "It's not that heavy, McGee! You're just ticked that I get to pop my Paris cherry while you languish in the not at all sexy confines of the bullpen. Maybe you can get your pal the Director to organize a cancan for you."

"I've _been_ to Paris, Tony."

"Yeah, with mommy and daddy, I bet. How old were you? Seven, eight…?"

"Twelve," McGee muttered, dropping a garment bag against Tony's desk with a crash. "And I'm not your skycap."

"Not getting a tip with that attitude, Probie." He wheeled his carry-on bag next to his garment bag and dropped his backpack on his desk.

Ziva took a sip of her tea and closed her eyes, thinking that she had entered a post-lunch torpor that was causing her to hallucinate. Perhaps there had been something off about the tuna. Her stomach felt fine, but it was possible that something had been slipped into her food. She had not recognized the man who made her wrap, so it was entirely possible that… The bags remained when she opened her eyes. Why had she been so convinced this had been a successful poisoning and not a dumb prank? "I know you that cannot all be yours."

Tony plopped into his chair and put his feet up on his desk. "Well, I had to borrow the garment bag from a buddy because a baggage carousel ate mine and I hate shopping for luggage. You can never find the right match for what you already own, which I think the luggage companies do so you'll buy a whole new set every time one piece wears out or gets lost or…"

"Please, I cannot take two days of you babbling like a…" She found that she was unable to find a translation for the Hebrew idiom she wanted to use, so she trailed off. "If you would like a compliment on your luggage prank, fine. Very funny."

His face was inscrutable for a moment. "Huh?"

"You do not really…" She waited for his face to break into the smile she could swear he was fighting, but it didn't happen. "Tony…"

"Well, what are you bringing?" She reached behind her and grabbed her bag. "Oh, now who's screwing around? That can't possibly be all you're bringing!"

"We are going to be away for a day and a night!"

"Two days and a night!" he protested. "And I need options! I don't know what we're gonna do besides pick up our whistle-blower – shopping, sight-seeing, photo-ops, the sky's the limit! Although I will state right now, for the record, that I'm not going to any museums, so I didn't pack any ascots or tweed jackets with elbow patches – y'know, McGeek couture, if you can call it that."

"We are not checking luggage," she stated firmly, rising from her seat and grabbing the garment bag. Pushing his backpack into his lap to clear his desk, she opened the bag and spread it out.

"Hey, you just said we're not checking luggage!"

"At the airport, Tony. Right now, you need to simplify."

"You don't think he's simple enough already?"

She ignored McGee's jibe and looked Tony in the eye. "You can bring one suit."

"But I don't…"

"…need four?" she finished for him. "I agree. This grey one will do nicely. It matches the shoes you are wearing. Pick the shirt and tie to go with it unless you want me to select that as well."

The way he grudgingly obeyed told her that her glare must be tougher than usual today. He still complained, "I don't see why I can't bring more than one, since I need the garment bag anyway."

She didn't share her plans for his luggage as she tossed the suit and shirt, plus another of her choosing, on her desk, moving on to his carry-on, which she dropped on top of the garment bag. His shaving kit went straight to her desk, along with some casual clothes, socks and, surprisingly, underwear. She paused not in response to his grimaces at her handling of his clothes but when she found something even more unexpected than boxer briefs. "You have a French home kit?"

"Well, I thought, uh…" He reached out and yanked the white shorts from her hand, but missed the jersey on which she had a firm hold. "When in Rome, so to speak."

She held up the jersey and turned it around. "Why do you even own a Zidane shirt?"

"I, uh, wanted something, y'know, French…and…uh, the headbutt…"

"But why did you pack it? You can buy these on the street in the right districts for far less than you paid for it here."

"But this one's authentic!"

"More so than one you actually buy from a French vendor?"

He sputtered ineffectually for a few moments before proclaiming, "This one has a hologram on the tag!"

"I think she's using a different definition of authentic, Tony," McGee said, clapping Tony on the shoulder and giving her a giddy smile. "And you should probably know that your underwear is attracting some attention."

Ziva stepped aside as Tony pushed past her, still clutching his official French football shorts. "Move along ladies, nothing to see here." The two women from the second floor walked away laughing and Ziva almost felt bad for putting him on display like that. Almost. She liked seeing him with a little color in his cheeks. Anyway, she had the distinct feeling that he wasn't the only one being laughed at, just the only one affected by it.

She did, however, stop him when he tried to throw everything back into his rolling carry-on. "You need a smaller bag."

"And where am I supposed to…"

"I have one in my car. Fold your clothes and I will go get it."

"I can't just _fold_ my suit! It'll get wrinkled!"

"And you will hang it up in the bathroom while the shower steams out the wrinkles. Now, fold."

"Does that really work?"

"I know other ways to flatten wrinkles."

She heard him mumble, "Crazy Moussad laundry tricks…" as she stepped toward the elevator.

"You have no idea," she called over her shoulder, prompting him to drop his pants. He was bending to pick them up and refold them when the doors blocked him from view. She said to herself, "This is going to be an odd trip."


	2. Chapter 2

_2. Do not bring anything that will draw attention to your bags._

* * *

"That was just unbelievable!"

Ziva picked up the bag Tony had dropped in the middle of the aisle and placed it on top of hers in the seat beside her. Going back to the book about the American Civil War that McGee had thoughtfully given her before she and Tony had left for the airport, she said, "Perhaps you should not have behaved as if NCIS agents were above TSA regulations."

"Hey, we're allowed to have guns on the freaking plane!" he whispered harshly. "I should be able to have a full size bottle of aftershave too! And maybe you shouldn't have given me a piece of luggage with a stiletto hidden in the lining!"

She felt a little badly that she had forgotten that particular item when offering him the bag, but not that badly. "Tony, once we had identified ourselves they allowed us to keep all our weapons, including my knives. It was your attitude that prompted them to pull you aside."

He sank into the seat on her other side, hissing, "Randomly selected for further screening, my ass."

"Did they get that far?" she asked, keeping her eyes on the page in front of her but focusing her concentration on her peripheral vision; he was staring at her disbelievingly, so she gave him a moment to think about what she'd said before adding, "I got you a coffee."

She picked up the white cup from behind her bag and passed it to him. He accepted it cautiously, not taking a sip before a careful sniff. "Thanks. For the coffee, not for leaving me to the tender mercies of the men in the ugly shirts. We just had a nice chat, if you're interested."

"You would not have been striding so comfortably otherwise."

She had to drop the pretense of reading, as he had gotten close enough for her to smell the fresh mocha on his breath. "You're awfully confident for someone who should be numero uno on the 'stop at airport security' list."

She shrugged. "_My_ weapons and I had plenty of time to stop at Starbucks and walk to our gate while you were interrogated."

"It was not an interrogation. Or if it was, they really need to work on their glares." He sank back into his own seat, taking a few sips from his cup before saying, "Y'know, just once, I'd like to throw everything I want to take in my shaving kit without putting it in little Ziploc bags. Who buys those? I mean, besides soccer moms on their weekly hunt for lunchmeat."

She returned a cursory amount of attention to her book. "People who cook, people who want food to stay fresh, people who want their lives to be organized…"

"Yeah, from the way you repacked my stuff I can tell you've reached whole new levels of OCD. Did they…" He paused to take a sip of his mocha. "This is good. Thanks for not getting that watery skim crap."

"I know how much you dislike it." She didn't ask what the question was that he had interrupted himself asking. "If you want anything to read on the plane, you should buy it now."

"Why do you assume I didn't bring a book? Oh, right, you didn't pack one for me."

"If you had packed one initially, I would have included it."

"Yeah, but you probably would have hollowed it out and hid a gun in it first."

She shrugged again, still pretending to pay attention to Bull Run. "I think it would have depended on the book."

"You ever read _The Da Vinci Code_?"

"_That_ would have a weapon in it."

"Okay, so I won't be picking that up from the bestseller rack in the store across the way."

She finally looked up, squinting at the shelf. "Get _Pride and Prejudice_."

"Seen the movie."

"They appear to be selling the version with zombies there."

"Zombies?" He tapped his fingers on the armrest until the call for boarding of first class passengers was announced. "Zombies are tempting, but then…it's not like I don't know about those little TVs in the seats where you get to pick your own movie during the flight. Don't need my laptop for that. We're gonna be on the plane for what, seven hours? That's two and a half airline-approved movies we can watch."

"You should sleep, as we are arriving in Paris at seven in the morning."

He turned in his seat and looked at her. "I'm surprised you sleep on planes."

"I do not. I am simply suggesting that you should."

"If I stay up watching movies, will you sleep?" He tossed his empty coffee cup across the aisle and watched it bounce around the rim before disappearing. "We could take it in shifts or something."

"I…" She closed her book without marking the page and tucked it into the side pocket of her bag as the PA crackled to life again. "I believe we can board now."

"We'll have to pick at least one movie to watch during dinner, okay? Just remember to get the steak and not the fish."

"I had tuna for lunch," she replied, hoisting her bag to her shoulder.

He raised a critical eyebrow in her direction. "Surely, you can't be serious."

He seemed to be waiting for a reply, so she said, "We should get in line."

He shook his head, but followed her without comment. When they were proceeding down the jetway, he did say, "I can't believe they took my razor. You're supposed to be allowed to take those on the plane."

She turned to say over her shoulder, "You can get one at our hotel. Or you can go a few days without shaving."

"Hmm. Is scruff very European?"

She ran her hand along his jaw just before stepping onto the plane. "I think you could wear it well."

She could see him scratching his chin thoughtfully as he flirted with the flight attendants on the way to their seats in business class. Ten minutes after takeoff, he excitedly started tapping her personal TV screen to select a movie. "If I'd known they had _Streetcar_, I wouldn't have been so upset that you made me leave my personal in-flight movies to languish in my desk!" As he tried to shove headphones into position over her ears, she heard him quietly chanting, "Stella! Stel-la!"


	3. Chapter 3

_3. Do not pack anything disposable and easily acquired at your destination._

* * *

Ziva concluded her long conversation with man at the hotel desk and picked up the two key cards he had set in front of her. She made her way to the sofa where Tony was reclining with his mouth hanging open. He woke when she manually closed it for him. "Huh?"

"They are allowing us to have the room early, as it was not occupied last night."

He blinked up at her several times. "Am I still dreaming or did you say the room – as in _a_ room?"

"There was some issue with booking on this end."

"Why does this feel like a romantic comedy plot?"

"Probably because you spent the entire flight watching movies." She picked up her bag, which he had not been keeping an eye on like she'd asked, and walked toward the elevators.

"It's the airline's fault, really, for putting such a wide selection of them right there on your own personal screen. How's a guy supposed to resist a temptation like that?"

She didn't comment on resisting temptation, handing him his key card as they stepped into the elevator.

"So, what've we got, like, two double beds?"

"No."

"Queens?" When she shook her head, he pumped his fist. "Oh, yeah! King-size! Tony's sleeping in Paris in style! You better hope I don't pick up a cancan girl or you're gonna need some earmuffs in your bed."

"The bed."

"Uh, do you mean _the_ bed as in _the_ one place to sleep in _the _room?"

"As I said, there were some issues with the booking."

He was less pleased about the turn of events than she had expected him to be. "Is there…a…a cot? Or…like, a sofa? We could flip for the sofa, I guess…"

She felt both insulted and uncomfortable until they were standing in front of what the hotel had generously termed a sofa. "This is a loveseat, at best."

He dropped his bag on the loveseat and turned toward the bed. "That's a good size, at least. Looks pretty good right about now."

"You should have slept on the plane."

"I didn't want to wake you." He kicked off his shoes as he crawled toward the pillows. "Besides, an hour or two and I'll be ready to hit the town." He covered his mouth as he yawned. "Can we go to Versailles?"

"Wrong town."

"But we're…"

"Not going to an overrated palace in the suburbs when there is plenty to see within a few blocks of our hotel."

"Fine, but you're my French-speaking pseudo-local tour guide." He loosened his tie and undid his belt before flipping onto his stomach and burying his face in the pillows. "I think there's a mint crammed in my nostril."

She sighed. "I am going to take a shower."

His muffled voice called, "Will put my shaving kit by the sink? You know where it is in my bag."

"Sure." She kicked his shoes toward the wall as she walked into the bathroom carrying nothing from her own bag. A knock on the room door sounded just as she was about to turn on the water. Tony said something that sounded like either 'Someone's at the door,' or 'Samba ship ahoy.' She answered the door and accepted the delivery of the conveniences she had requested when they'd checked in. Tony was much clearer when he asked, "What was that about?"

"Just some things I asked for – extra towels, toothbrush, razor…"

"Aw, you got me a razor?"

"No, I got _me_ a razor."

After a pause, he asked, "Can I use it when you're done?"

"Go to sleep," she replied before pulling the door closed.

He seemed to have taken her advice when she stepped out of the steamy bathroom after her shower. His snoring seemed to indicate that it was all right to walk around the room wrapped in her towel. She dressed quickly, but without reluctance to drop her towel on the floor as she selected one of three outfits she had packed for the trip. He was still snoring when she'd dried her hair and placed all the items she didn't want to leave in the room in her purse.

Deciding that he could use another hour of sleep, she sank into the sofa – or tried to. It was hard as a rock. Tony snored on, looking very comfortable on top of the covers in the big bed. There was no reason she couldn't be just as comfortable in all the extra space. She padded across the floor and settled against the mass of pillows piled near the headboard. Oh, she was going to sleep well tonight. In fact, she didn't really need to learn anything more about the Civil War right now. She slipped under the covers and closed her eyes, for what she promised would only be a few minutes.

She woke an indeterminate amount of time later when the smell of warm baked goods filled the room. She felt the mattress sink somewhere near her feet. "Croissant?"

"You ordered room service?"

Tony scooted toward her, waving a silver platter. "We've got a meal allowance. Why not enjoy some authentic cuisine?"

"Authentic does not come from room service." She took a bite of one of the warm croissants, but didn't admit that it was quite good.

"Aw, just have some crêpes and, uh, whatever you put on crêpes."

"Just give me a napkin."

"Nope. The nice thing about being on vacation is that you can get crumbs on the sheets and not worry about it."

She frowned. "You are sleeping on the crumbs, then."

"Then the bed is…"

"Do you see another option?"

He crammed a croissant in his mouth. "We should probably, uh, not mention this."

"Agreed."

They ate in silence for a few minutes until he asked, "So…what'd you shave?"

"What do you think?" His wiggling eyebrows prompted her to add, "Not that."

He rolled back over into his own stack of pillows. "At least I know you're not going native over here."

"That is such an American stereotype."

"Oh, like it makes a difference. I've already got a bed-buddy, so it's not like I'm gonna be doing any of my own research."

She set her plate and fork on the bedside table before turning to him. "Do not make me regret not packing an inflatable mattress."

He didn't smile. "Can I ask you a question?"

"Yes."

"How did you get the scars on your back? I don't remember them."

"I should have known that you were not asleep," she huffed, shoving him away as she threw off the covers.

He caught her wrist. "I'm sorry, I just…you're still gonna show me the sights, right? You did let me keep my camera."

"It seems you have already seen more than enough."

"I am sorry."

She ran her fingers through her hair. "What do you want to see?"


	4. Chapter 4

_4. Do not pack more than you anticipate you could need._

* * *

Ziva shivered in the cold, rushing wind and cursed the online weather report that had led her to believe temperatures in Paris would be unseasonably warm for the duration of her short stay. Tony, wearing the trench coat he had wisely not left in the car parked in the garage at Dulles, sidled up to her. "Photo op complete. What's next?"

She glanced fondly into the window of the shop that featured a wide selection of warm, wooly coats. Well, she certainly wasn't going to pay the prices on Faubourg Saint-Honoré, no matter what delicate shade of green the coat in the window was or how often she could picture herself wearing it or…

"I have _never_ seen you do the shopping face. I didn't even know you could!"

"What you talking about?" she muttered self-consciously as she rubbed her upper arms with her chilled hands. "Come on. Our next stop is the Tuileries."

"Well, are we taking a taxi?"

"It is just a few blocks."

"You know, you say that between every stop. How many miles have we walked when you add up all those few blocks?"

"Walking is good for you."

"But not as fun as riding a Vespa. That was a good deal the hotel was offering, wasn't it?"

"How can you be sure when you are convinced the conversion from dollars to euro is one to one?"

"I…are you cold?"

"Not at all." She concentrated on not shivering as she glanced around to get her bearings, although she had full confidence that she knew where she was and where she was going. "Let's go."

"Y'know, I'm not just about the sight-seeing. I could stand to do a little shopping myself. Nothing major, but a maybe a couple of French silk ties to match your pretty new coat…"

"Why would we need to match?"

"Uhh…"

She increased her pace. "The palace was destroyed during the revolution, but the gardens are…"

"Now who sounds like a tour book?" He matched her pace as she took a sharp turn toward the Champs-Élysées, hoping he'd be excited to enough to take more pictures in spite of having crossed it several times today. "Don't make me give you my coat, because then I'll be cold and you'll look like a…well, not a frumpy homeless person, because I don't think they wear Armani, but…"

She yanked his coat open for a look at the label. "Armani Exchange."

"It's still Armani."

"And Spam is considered food. What is your point?"

He frowned but walked silently at her side for a few paces, snapping pictures. "Y'know, it's not just Spam. It's Spam, eggs and Spam, Spam, eggs, bacon and Spam, Spam, Spam, Spam…"

"Please stop."

"You're lucky you're not taking the British citizenship test."

She didn't comment on the fact that she already had a British passport. So what if it was fake? It worked perfectly well. She was still in the middle of constructing her argument when Tony yanked her through the front door of a small shop. "What are you…?"

"I missed your birthday this year."

"No, you did not. You got me flowers."

"Fine, then. It's an early, uh…look, you need a coat and…" He grabbed a grey one off the nearest rack. "You already have one this color. Not with you, obviously, but…" He ignored her protests and the entreaties of a salesgirl as he began to search.

The French-speaking salesgirl looked to Ziva for help as it became clear that Tony was both ignoring and not understanding her. "Madame, is there something I can help you find?"

"I believe he is…" she paused as he stood in triumph, holding a pale blue coat. She switched back to English, "Very nice, Tony."

"I think it'll fit you."

She nodded, maintaining her smile for the benefit of the salesgirl. "Yes, but it is…" The tag hanging from the sleeve slowly revolved, catching her attention. "I cannot afford it."

"Did you miss the part where this is a gift? Try it on."

"I cannot accept…" She fingered the material, briefly reconsidering her position. He was trying to pull her light jacket off her shoulders. Her resistance may have lingered if not for a strategically placed mirror.

Tony crossed his arms and leaned back with a look of triumph. "C'est magnifique!"

The excited shopgirl burst into a flurried salespitch, "You have fine taste, Monsieur. A particularly lovely selection for your wife, the finest cashmere imported from Turkey and designed right here in Paris for the most flattering cut and…" Seemingly realizing that the details and language were lost on him, she turned to Ziva. "Shall I wrap it up, or will you be wearing it?"

She smiled indulgently, "Thank you, but…"

Tony suddenly asked, "Do you take Visa?"

"Tony…"

"Vee-sah?"

The salesgirl, either recognizing the word or the credit card he had brandished, led him toward a register in the corner. Ziva caught him just as he was about to hand it over. "Stop!"

"C'mon, can't I tip my tour guide?"

"Not with a seventeen-hundred dollar coat!"

His eyes went wide for a moment, but he pulled his hand out of hers and held out his credit card to the waiting salesgirl. "In the future, I'm really gonna think about conversion rates before I decide to be generous."

"You cannot…"

"If you really wanted to stop me, you'd be using a knife instead of standing there whining in your new coat."

She made the mistake of caressing a lapel imparted with the power to sap all her resistance. In a small voice, she said, "Thank you."

He nodded. "Knew you wanted it," he said smugly before signing the receipt.

She looped her arm through his as they left the shop, a day spent on a walking tour of Paris suddenly seeming like less of a chore; perhaps it was because she was warm. "I really do not think a simple thank you is adequate."

"Maybe a, uh, rented Vespa would, uh, satisfy?" He gave her a sidelong glance. "We could see even more that way…"

She didn't see any reason to say no.


	5. Chapter 5

_5. Avoid wasted space by not bringing a larger bag than you need._

* * *

"And now not only do I have something in which to carry my souvenirs, but the bag itself is a souvenir! That's what we call efficiency. You'll want to take note of that, Probie."

Ziva ignored Tony's flourish as he let them into their hotel room, allowing his new duffle emblazoned with the French flag to lead the way. "It is not very practical to carry home gifts to everyone you have ever met."

"But it's nice! They're just gonna be little trinkets for people I see a lot of. Imagine how little Timmy's face will light up when he gets a model of the Eiffel Tower to place proudly on his desk!"

"You bought one of those cheap things?"

His eyes flicked up and down her body. "Can't say I'm budgeting wisely at the moment. But to answer your question, no I have not made any other purchases yet. I wanted to wait until we got our wheels." He sat on the bed and kicked off his shoes. "You should have told me to pack roller skates or something."

"You should have…" she made the mistake of running her hands over her coat as she moved to unbutton it and headed in a different direction, "…gotten a good workout from all the walking. Now you will not feel bad if we have a nice dinner."

"Nicer than what we had for lunch?"

"You insisted on going to McDonald's!"

"Because I wanted a Royale with cheese!"

She shook her head disgustedly as she hung her coat in the closet. "I will not complain about your insistence on visiting every place you saw in that magazine you stole from the airplane…"

"It's complementary! They want you to take it! Like the little book the hotel gave us!"

She went on as if he hadn't interrupted, "…if you do not continue referencing movies at every opportunity."

"For how long?" He was eying her very suspiciously now.

"Until we get back to DC."

"Hm." He scratched what she imagined was rough stubble on his chin. "Okay, we'll make a deal. I'll stop sharing the cinematic significance of Paris if…no, I don't like this deal."

"Tony…" She forgot how uncomfortable the sofa was when she made the mistake of allowing gravity to seat her.

"No, I mean I'll still stop talking about movies for a little bit but you…you have to stop feeling weird about the coat."

"I am fine with the coat. I feel _weird_ that you were the one to purchase it."

"Hm." He flopped back on the bed and settled his hands on his stomach. "Will you feel less weird if you pick the restaurant and pay for dinner?"

She nodded. "That would be a good start."

"Then, when we get back from dinner, you can give me a foot massage."

"Absolutely not."

"But you made me walk all over this city and…"

"I am not touching your feet."

He turned his head to look at her. "Not until after I've showered, of course."

"No."

"Come on. I'd touch your feet!"

"Not if you want to keep all your fingers." They engaged in a silent staring contest until she said, "You can have a back massage."

"Really?" He sat up, an expression of disbelieving joy on his face that made her regret her quick compromise. "I…I want that."

"You do realize that I said 'back'?"

He nodded eagerly. "Oh, yeah."

"All right." He continued to grin and stare. She went for another distraction. "So, perhaps we should go to the lobby and talk to the front desk about the Vespa?"

His smile had only gotten wider by the time he was sitting on the small silver scooter. "Right, so how does this thing work?"

She stood on the curb, suddenly less willing to get on the seat behind him. "Perhaps I should drive."

"They didn't have helmets for rent. So no."

"At least I have driven a motorcycle before, though this would hardly qualify as a motorcycle."

He gave her a triumphant grin when he managed to rev the engine. "If you've driven one, it probably means you've crashed one. We're gonna stick with me on this one. Hop on." She regarded him dubiously. "I'll be careful. And you can take comfort in the fact that if we get into an accident, I'll be the one Gibbs rips the neck brace off to put in a, uh, bigger neck brace."

She swung her leg over the seat in spite of her misgivings. "Do not go too fast."

"Are you trying to give me internal injuries to avoid my promised back massage?"

"Just go."

If anything, she spent the first half-hour clutching him tightly and ignoring his bursts of laughter as he avoided other vehicles and pedestrians. At least he'd been too excited to stop anywhere and beg her to pose. She wasn't about to break one of the cardinal rules of any mission – do not leave evidence of your presence; she'd felt uncomfortable enough having her own passport stamped at the airport. She dug her fingers into Tony's stomach as he took a sharp curve and called over his shoulder, "You'd get killed in a second if you tried this in DC! But I still want one!"

"Just get it out of your system here!"

"Can't hear you!"

She ducked her face into his shoulder as she discovered that a Vespa could go much faster than she had anticipated, which wouldn't have made her uncomfortable if…she opened her eyes at just the wrong moment and let out a little squeak as Tony swerved to avoid an elderly couple that had not quite made it across the street in time. "Pull over!"

He complied sheepishly. "Guess I got a little excited." He tried to distract her by pointing at a small café across the street. "Ooh, does that say coffee?"

"Let me drive."

"But Zeeee-vah…"

"I will take you to the Moulin Rouge if you allow me to drive."

He bounced off the scooter and pushed her forward so he could occupy the rear seat. "I won't even talk about the movie."

His grip on her waist was firm but gentle as she pulled into traffic. "How come you're not wearing your new coat?"

"You will find out when you check the hem of yours."

"What?"

"Do not worry. The hotel has overnight dry-cleaning."

He changed his hold to a position slightly lower. "Maybe I shouldn't buy any souvenirs. Think I could pack this thing on the plane?"


	6. Chapter 6

_6. Do not leave room for souvenirs. Leave the entire mission behind. _

* * *

"Think Abby would like that?"

Ziva pulled on Tony's arm, trying to drag him away from the shop window. "I thought you said you were hungry."

"And I thought youwere kidding about that whole steam thing to release wrinkles," he replied, succumbing to her pressure.

"Perhaps I should have mentioned that it is wasteful to run the shower when you are not using it."

"I didn't want to shower and then go out again. But you gotta admit it, I look _good_."

"Your new tie is very nice," she conceded. "Although I think it would look better with a different suit."

"Well, somebody made me leave my other suits in my car on the other side of the Atlantic and I wasn't about to buy a new one. You'd probably just make me abandon it in the closet when it didn't fit in my bag. The beauty of a coat is that you can wear it on the plane or something."

She walked closer to him, still holding his arm, not mentioning that 'taking on the plane' was not the beauty of her new coat. "I believe that is the restaurant the concierge recommended." She had been careful to ask for one within walking distance from the hotel so Tony wouldn't insist on driving them. "We can cross here."

"This is a real French place, right?"

"Yes. I asked for something authentic. No Royales with cheese."

He paused before opening the door for her. "You're not gonna sneak in an order of snails, are you?"

"Escargot is not kosher." She had to let him flounder for a few moments as she turned her attention to the talkative maître d', who led them to a choice table when she demonstrated her fluency.

Tony frowned as he looked down at the open menu that had been presented to him. Once they were alone, he asked, "I think à l'orange means orange, but what's a caneton?"

"Duck," she said, rapidly scanning the menu before turning to the wine list. Caneton à l'orange did sound good and would make the wine selection easier if they both ordered it.

"Hm."

"Do you like duck?" She knew the answer, having eaten enough Chinese take-out with him over the years, but he seemed nervous.

"Yeah, duck is good, but…" he trailed off in a mutter.

"Did you have other questions about the menu?"

"No, I want the duck, but…look, I know I heard the maître d' say something about Americans, so…what did he say?"

She sighed, not wanting to spoil dinner but knowing that he would know if she lied; then he would be upset with the maître d' and her. "He said he was happy to have a couple from the hotel who were not boorish Americans."

"He's gonna spit on my duck, isn't he?"

"I am sure he has just had some negative experiences with tourists. Besides, he does not know that you are American. And he would not be bringing our food."

"But the waiter will know."

She suddenly understood what he was getting at. "Would you like me to order for you?"

"I know it's supposed to be the other way around, but, uh…" Even in the dimly lit restaurant, she could see him blushing. "Look, I know I'm an American jerk, so…"

"You are not a…you do not always behave like a jerk."

The corners of his mouth twitched. "Remember, no snails."

One snail-free meal and shared dessert later, they stepped out onto the sidewalk. She felt slightly lightheaded even though she'd had only one glass of wine. It could have been the fact that Tony was holding her hand, although that certainly didn't make much sense. "Tony, the hotel is the other way."

"True, but the big shiny thing is this way."

"We went to the Eiffel Tower already."

"Not at night. Besides, we didn't go up to the top. It's not too late for that, is it?"

She checked her watch. "It is just after ten. We should be able to catch the elevator if we hurry." He neither increased his pace nor let go of her hand. "It will be cold."

"Cold and _pretty_. Lovely night for a stroll, oui?"

"It is a bit cold."

"Please don't tell me you need another coat."

"I am just commenting that…"

"I'm surprised and happy you said elevator," he interrupted. "I had this pit in my stomach that you were gonna suggest the stairs."

"They close early and do not go all the way to the top." She moved closer to him as they walked, trying to convince herself that it was for the shared warmth. "It _is_ a lovely view at night."

"Uh huh." She ignored the fact that he was no longer looking at the tower. He maintained his attention as she paid for their admission, under protest; he had used the same look on her when she'd paid for dinner. Although she suspected it was his pseudo-clever way to get her to keep bringing up her coat and thanking him for it. She didn't mind. As they rode up the elevator, she slipped her hands into the pockets. He tugged her forearm gently as they arrived at the top floor and the elevator doors opened, squeezing her hand in his as he walked toward the door to the outer deck. "Wow."

She followed him to the railing. "As I said, cold."

"No, I just mean…" He turned to her, his face aglow. "This is just…I'm glad…wow."

She gave him a few minutes to pace around and attempt to pick out the places they had been during the day. She smiled and tried to direct his gaze down the Champ de Mars. "The building at the edge of the park is…"

"Romantic view," he commented.

"I suppose that is one way to look at a military school, but…that way, Tony." His attention remained focused on a point much closer and she felt the cold much less acutely. "The, er, you can…perhaps you would like to take some pictures? Where is your camera?"

"Don't think I need it. This is memorable."

"Tony…"

"I'm not gonna ask permission because I don't want to give you the chance to say no."

"Permission for…" The warmth that spread through her, emanating from the contact point, was almost too much to bear. When he stepped back, she took a few deep breaths. "We can see the river from…if we go to the other side…"

"Please say something."

"The Trocadéro…"

"Something not about the scenery."

"I…" She ran the back of her hand across her lips, still warm. "I owe you a back massage, yes?"

He sighed and finally turned his gaze back to the city. "Not what I expected."

"It is a beautiful city."

"Yeah." He turned away from the view once again. "Y'know, you were right. It's cold up here."

"Shall we…go?" She reached for his hand as they returned to the elevator, but it remained in his pocket. She allowed her hand to rest on his forearm as they made their quiet way back to the hotel.


	7. Chapter 7

_7. Pajamas are superfluous. Plan to sleep in the previous day's clothing if nights are cold._

* * *

"I'm gonna jump in the shower." Tony disappeared into the bathroom without even removing his coat, leaving Ziva to stand by herself in an oppressive atmosphere of regret. Or perhaps the maid had just used a rather pungent cleaning solution.

She carefully hung her coat in the closet before sitting on the sofa to remove her boots. The sound of the shower was louder in the room than she would have thought. She was looking for something to do when she remembered the suit Tony had put on to go to dinner was the one he was planning to wear tomorrow. She knocked softly on the bathroom door and, getting no response, entered. "I will hang up your…" she made the mistake of pausing while she glimpsed his silhouette through the frosted glass door, "things."

He spun toward the wall, squawking, "Fine!"

She swept all of his clothes into her arms and left him to his shower. She hoped he'd leave enough soap for her to use in the morning; she didn't want to have to call for more.

She was sitting against the headboard, reading the same sentence in her book for the fiftieth time when the sound of running water ceased. The Civil War was surprisingly boring at the moment. She had failed to process any meaning from the sentence on tries fifty-one and fifty-two when Tony stepped out of the bathroom. The hotel towel wrapped around his waist was barely large enough. Why couldn't hotels provide bath sheets instead of just hand towels? He held it tightly with both hands as he regarded her warily. "How much did you see?"

"In inches?" The page blurred in front of her eyes, reminding her that it was difficult to stare at two things at once.

He gripped his towel even tighter, bunching it frontwards. "Well, don't go thinking that had anything to do with you. It's just a normal, uh…"

"Shower activity?"

"Stress relief strategy. Any physician will tell you…"

She folded down the corner of the page, accepting that no shots would be fired at Gettysburg tonight. "I should have knocked more loudly."

"Yeah, yeah you should have!" He remained where he was, still looking uncomfortable. "So…I, uh, are you still gonna give me a back massage? Because now would be a good time."

Setting her book on the nightstand, she smoothed the bedspread on his side. "Lie down."

"Don't you want me to, uh, put something on?"

"I cannot give you a very good massage if you are wearing a shirt."

"I was thinking about…" He held his towel firmly around his waist as he sat. "Actually, you raise a good point. Will it be weird if I sleep without a shirt on? I mean, for you."

"I do not mind."

"Good, because I tried on that Zidane jersey I bought and it's a little tight through the chest. I guess he's not that, uh, built. I'd be happy to extend topless sleeping privileges to you, if you…"

"Are you trying to talk your way out of your massage?"

He rolled onto his stomach, maintaining his hold on his towel. He gave a contented sigh the moment her hands made contact with his skin, still warm from his shower. "If you, uh…need a better angle…you can, uh…I mean, I don't want it to get weird…"

She shook her head as she straddled him, eliciting another sigh that she wasn't sure had to do with the pressure she was exerting on his shoulders. "Tony, I want to apologize."

"Mmmm. Don't. That's good."

"I meant…for earlier." She glanced out the window, thankful they did not have a view of the Eiffel Tower. "I should not have…"

"No, uhhhhh. My fault. I had this whole idea about Paris in – oooooh, that feels good – in my head and I should know – mmmmm – that real life isn't like movies, so…oooh, I gotta stop talking."

"Yes. Just relax."

Twenty minutes later, he had devolved into a taffy-like clod of moaning goo. "Oh, babe, you are the best."

She felt the fatigue in her thumbs as she paused. "Babe?"

His arms flopped as he searched for her hands from his prone position. "Got excited. Don't stop?"

"My hands are getting tired."

"I'd offer to change places, but I don't think I wanna move. Ever." He turned his head to look at her as she moved away from him, resuming her seat from earlier. "I think you really missed your calling. I mean, you're good with the assassin thing, but, never having experienced being killed by you…I forgot where I was going with this."

"I could suggest going to your bag to put some clothes on."

"Uh, no. I need to lie here for a little longer. On my stomach."

"Do you need to go back to the shower?"

"No, I can wait it out."

"Unless…"

He shifted slightly in response to her gaze. "Is Paris like Vegas?"

* * *

The light coming through the window was still grey when Ziva opened her eyes in response to a gentle touch on her back. She allowed Tony to trace serpentine patterns on the skin for a full minute before saying quietly, "I do not want to talk about it."

"Oh." His hand withdrew as he pulled back toward his own side of the bed. "I didn't think that started until after we left Paris, but…if that's what you want."

"My scars, Tony."

"Right." She felt his body heat as he edged closer once more. His fingertip tracing resumed. "I'm sorry."

"It was not your fault."

"Doesn't mean I can't be sorry I…it took me too long. I should have…"

"You were perfect." She turned her head and stretched to kiss his cheek.

"You mean then or…"

"Both." She settled against his chest and he wrapped an arm around her waist.

When the light began to brighten, he whispered, "We're in Paris for a few more hours, at least. And, uh, maybe our flight will have to be changed? We could do a little more sight-seeing, have some, uh, more croissants?"

"It is still early."

"Well, I figured we'd be busy until breakfast."


	8. Chapter 8

_8. Anything that cannot be used for identification purposes can be discarded and left behind_.

* * *

Ziva pressed tightly against Tony's back, confident that anyone tailing them would readily believe their closeness was due to his still-questionable skills on the Vespa. Still, it was nice. Perhaps that was why she hadn't corrected any of the four – she whipped her head around to get her bearings as they took a corner – _five_ wrong turns he had made since leaving the café. They had time; she had set his watch an hour ahead while he had been in the bathroom this morning to ensure that he wouldn't attempt to squeeze too much into their remaining hours in Paris.

She decided to give him one more wrong turn as she nuzzled the side of his neck, catching a whiff of his aftershave. She nearly threw off the balance of the scooter as she abruptly pulled back after remembering that he had used her razor to shave that morning. His reasoning had gone something like, _You don't have any weird communicable armpit diseases._ Thankfully he'd remembered to pack his own toothbrush. Would he…? She used her thumb to poke him in the stomach, hard. "Enough joyriding. Take the next right. And you are never to use my toothbrush."

"What?"

"Right!"

"Hey, there's our hotel!" He grinned at her as she jumped onto the curb a few moments later. "You can't tell me you won't miss cruising around on the Silver Star, here. See, I bet you thought I was gonna go with Silver Surfer or Silver Bullet, but I surprised you with the military theme, right?"

"You have been calling it that since we rented it yesterday."

"Sure, but you were surprised the first time you heard me say it. Weren't you?"

"Go turn in the keys. We need to get upstairs to grab our things."

He was much faster in completing the task than she had expected, but his smile when they reached the door of their hotel room made it abundantly clear why. "So…our whistle-blower is planning to hold her breath for the next hour. How shall we fill the time?"

"Check your watch."

He held it up to his ear. "It's been running fast. What time do you have?" He grabbed her wrist and pulled her into the room. "Because I think your watch will say plenty of time."

"No."

"Come on, Ziva. We've got limited Paris-time left! Let's enjoy it!"

"What's to stop us from enjoying…_time_ when we get back to Washington?"

He dropped her arm and sank onto the bed. "Home? But you said…"

Taking a step back, she asked, "Do you regret what happened?"

"What? No!"

She turned away from him, tucking a few last minute items into her bag. "You are giving me the impression that you would not want it to happen again."

"Well, I…didn't I just try to…"

She fought to keep her voice level as she interrupted, "It is not just about how you feel when we are here."

"I just hadn't considered the possibility that, uh, _you_ would…do you…want…I mean, I could…wait."

"I am sick of waiting." She retreated toward the closet to get her coat, but hesitated just before she touched it.

He was leaning forward now, his elbows resting on his knees. "If we take this home, it's not just gonna be Paris, it's gonna be here and there and…everywhere. On a plane and on a train, in a box and with a fox…"

It took her a moment, but Ziva was able to recall the source from a mission several months previously. "Ham is not kosher and green eggs are…disgusting."

His eyes stayed on the carpet. "Little Franks and Beans seemed to like that story."

"Her name is Amira." She had to admit that he was not entirely inept when dealing with children, but this was not a topic she wanted to broach now, especially not after the faraway look she had seen in his eyes when mentioning Jeanne this morning. Still…it had come up so casually, with no prompting. That was encouraging if they were really considering bringing home extra luggage…baggage? She reached for her coat, trying to ignore the softness of the wool as she removed it from the hanger. The warmth the Internet had predicted had arrived today, though she would apparently have occasion to wear in upon deplaning in DC. "We do not have to talk about it now."

"But if we don't, then…it's a long flight."

"What would you like to say?"

"Hey, you're the one who suddenly said…of course, I considered it, I'd be nuts not to, but…are we really gonna…?"

"Are you leaving it up to me?"

He finally looked at her. "I'm fine either way. Well, I'm happy one way and s- not happy the other one, but, uh, I'll accept what you want if you want to…are we going to tell people about this?"

"Define people."

"Other human beings."

She sat beside him on the edge of the bed. "Be serious."

"Gibbs. That serious enough for you?"

She bit back a crack about Tony's experience with secret relationships and rested her head on his shoulder. "It does seem unnecessarily complicated."

"So we're gonna leave it in Paris with the shampoo and razor and croissant I didn't finish?"

She ran her hand over the smooth sheets of the unmade bed. "I think it may be best if we do."

"Best for who? Because, honestly, it doesn't feel like it would be best for us. Shouldn't this be about us?"

"That is never how relationships work."

"We'll always have Paris," he intoned, doing what she was sure was an impression she couldn't quite place. "And we're gonna have it for the next forty-five minutes, if you…"

"Oh, yes." She was careful to make sure her coat was safely placed on the sofa so it didn't end up in the pile with the bedspread.


	9. Chapter 9

_9. Do not allow any traveling companions to carry suspicious materials._

* * *

"Take it off."

"No, Zee-vah!" Tony swatted at her hands. "I don't wanna!"

Ziva folded her arms across her chest and squared her shoulders. "Take. It. Off."

"No!"

"Tony…" She was tempted to make a comment regarding his usual willingness to remove his belt, but she realized that airport security was not the place for such jokes.

"We've got our special Interpol passes that we show the French TSA guys, bing, bang, straight to the bar to complete our pre-flight checklist. By which I mean martinis."

"We are _working_!" she hissed, stepping into him for a moment and stepping back with his belt a moment later. She dropped it into the plastic bin with her shoes and coat. "And we are not supposed to be drawing attention to ourselves."

"That was both hot and emasculating, in that order," he whispered before raising his voice to say, "Well, I meant that, uh, maybe Nora would like a martini while we have some nice diet sodas with lemon."

Nora looked over her shoulder from beyond the metal detector where an officer was running a wand over her. "Isn't it a little early for cocktails?"

Tony waved Ziva through the metal detector gallantly. "It's past five in Sydney."

She was unable to think of a clever comeback involving – echidnas! That would throw him – before the detector buzzed, requiring her to turn her full attention to discreetly confirming her identity and right to be fully armed at Charles de Gaulle and all final destinations. She was pleased to note while retrieving her bag that Tony was able to make it to her side with minimal faked French. As he slipped his belt back on, he whispered, "Glad I brought the shoulder holster."

"It makes you look puffy."

"But it's comfortable!"

"Just keep your jacket on."

"Oh, like I'm letting you completely strip me in a crowded airport."

Nora smiled at them as she pulled up the handle on her rolling carry-on. "I think it's nice that NCIS lets married couples travel together like this."

"We're not married," Tony said before Ziva could.

She wasn't sure that it was necessarily a good thing, but agreed, "If we were married, I would be escorting a witness and a corpse back to Washington."

"You're mean." He pouted, dropping the handles of her bag, which he had been about to pick up from the end of the x-ray belt.

Nora either didn't notice their stare or ignored it. "Well, you guys do a good impression of an unhappy marriage. Is that part of your training?"

Ziva's 'yes' was simultaneous with Tony's 'no.' Nora nodded emphatically. "Maybe you were right about that drink, Agent DiNozzo. I'd like to make a stop at the ladies' room first."

Ziva passed the bag Tony had refused to carry to him before catching Nora's elbow. "Try not to walk away from us in crowded areas."

"Or deserted areas," Tony added. "Or semi-crowded areas. Or sort of sparsely populated, lots of space between people but still not exactly uninhabited areas. Or…"

"Stop doing your Abby impression." She missed whatever he felt the need to add as she steered Nora into a bathroom. She cleared three stalls at the end of the row before directing Nora to the last one.

"Do you really think someone will come after me in a bathroom, Agent David?"

Ziva blinked. "I suggest using a seat cover. Airport bathrooms are high-traffic."

Fifteen minutes and one round of mostly non-alcoholic drinks later, Nora seemed less inclined to be babysat. "Can I pick out a magazine on my own, or do you need to pick up each one to make sure I won't be poisoned by a paper cut?"

Ziva warily agreed, taking up a position outside the small airport bookshop, Tony at her side providing a running commentary as each magazine was selected and rejected. "Oooh, French _Vogue_…boobies. They have topless models, right? I could read that once she's…aw, don't put that back. _Rolling Stone_? They haven't written anything good since the early 90s. Yeah, good, put that back. What's that? Oh, not _Glamour_! Oh, great, _that_ one she wants! Jeanne used to read that, if you can call thatreading material…"

She calmly interrupted, "This is the second time today you have mentioned her."

She could almost see him biting his tongue. "Uhhh…"

"I just find it strange," she continued, "because you never bring her up and…"

"Sorry. I don't have a lot of reference points for long-term relationships."

She completely lost track of Nora as she tried to process what he had just said. "Long-term?"

"Did I read that wrong when you said we'd be taking this home with us?"

"That is not the same as…I am just surprised to hear you say…"

He shrugged, staring at the bags piled around his feet. "I figure if you don't end up offing me, Gibbs will when he finds out. Either that, or…like I said."

"I do not want you to feel as if you are compelled to…"

"Compelled? Hm." He finally made sidelong eye contact. "I would have thought it was more like something…I'd ask McGee how magnets work if I wasn't afraid he'd actually tell me. I think it's easier just to…go with it."

"Oh?"

She wasn't able to get any further clarification from him as Nora approached with her _Glamour_. "Did either of you want to check this for explosive residue?"

"I would suggest you not joke about that," Ziva replied, her voice low. "Even with our Interpol clearance, such things are not taken lightly."

"Sorry. I've just never been so…I've never had to be so careful. I'm surprised you let me get a drink, even."

"I took a sip when you weren't looking," Tony said with a wink as he rolled Nora's suitcase toward her, but Ziva was pleased that he seemed to have decided to carry hers. He realized what he was doing halfway to their gate. "I know your coat isn't _that_ heavy."

Nora didn't seem to notice the bag being passed in front of her as she turned to Ziva. "I meant to say earlier that is a gorgeous coat! Did you get in DC?"

Before she could reply, Tony said, "She got it here. Little travel treat. I got a new tie, but she wouldn't let me wear it. Said it doesn't look good with this suit. I can show you, if you want, because I'd like to get a second opinion."

"Drop it, Tony."

Nora surveyed them both as she settled her bag by a seat in the waiting area. "And you two are sure you're not married?"


	10. Chapter 10

_10. Ensure that nothing you pack is irreplaceable. _

* * *

Ziva sat in her car, wondering why she was having so much trouble deciding whether or not to go upstairs. Nothing had been discussed, but they had been home for nearly a week and she was getting tired of pretending everything was the same as ever. True, the first day had been spent recovering from jetlag, the second completing paperwork, but the third…was today. She leaned forward and rested her forehead against the steering wheel. Perhaps she wasn't entirely over her jetlag if she thought three days was a long time.

He kept mentioning Jeanne. It was unsolicited, unexpected and…upsetting. She was having trouble understanding what it was that Paris had brought out for Tony. She couldn't shake the disturbing feeling that she had been serving as a stand-in for someone else, someone he would have preferred to see Paris with. Why had she driven here? And why had she brought a bottle of the wine like the one they had shared at dinner that had taken trips to three different stores to find?

Without raising her head, she reached for her ringing phone and answered it dejectedly, "David."

"You just gonna sit out here all night?"

"Tony?"

"Look up and across the street." He smiled and waved from his own car. "How long have you been there?"

If the cold in the car was an indication, the answer was quite a while. "I don't know."

"So, long enough to miss me stopping by your place and coming home when you weren't there?"

She shook her head. "Perhaps one of us should have picked up the phone prior to this moment."

"And miss all this endearing awkwardness?" He jogged across the street and yanked her door open as he hung up the phone. "Wanna go upstairs?"

"I suppose."

"I have wine…" He held up a familiar looking bottle. "Five stores to find this stuff!"

She held up her bottle with a smile. "Three."

"Place on K Street?"

"1200 block of 21st."

"So we've got two places to get the wine. Now all we need is duck."

"I am not sure that drinking is what we need to do right now."

"Might make talking easier." Sitting on his sofa five minutes later with a glass of wine apiece, the words refused to flow. "So…"

"This is not bad on its own."

"No. It's good. Good wine. Want to order Chinese?"

"Sure."

"Duck?"

She smiled sadly. "Sounds good."

They were eating and still drinking half an hour later when he said. "You didn't come here just to drink and eat duck, did you?"

She took a long sip as she realized this conversation was limited. "Could we…"

He pushed his plate away, a surprise in and of itself. "I'm kind of out of practice with talking. I haven't really…not since Jeanne…"

"Please stop mentioning her."

"Sorry, I just…"

"I know what you said. It does not make it hurt less. How would you feel if I started bringing up…" She swallowed hard. "If I started bringing up Michael every few minutes?"

"Uh, not…good." He grabbed the second bottle from the coffee table and refilled their glasses. "I…I can make an effort to, uh, not do that anymore. I just…I keep trying to avoid making mistakes and all I can think about is the biggest one I ever made."

She drew away from him, toward the arm of the sofa. "She is still in Gabon."

"What?"

"Jeanne. If she is the one you want, she is still in Gabon. I checked."

"When?"

"Today."

"Why? Why would you…?"

"I wanted to know. And I thought you would be interested."

"I…I'm an idiot." She condensed herself into as small a space as possible as he moved closer. "Don't fall all over yourself disagreeing with me."

She set her wineglass on the table. "I like you as an idiot. Not too much, but in small doses. It makes you give that extra effort that makes you wonderful."

"So I'm wonderfully idiotic?" He brushed her hair behind her ear as he leaned in. "I don't want Jeanne, you know. I want someone who knows that I'm an unapologetic jerk who doesn't want to move into some ugly bungalow. I just…I don't want to pretend to be something I'm not and you…you know me." His breath was warm on her ear. "And you still haven't shot me, so…"

* * *

Ziva opened her eyes, thinking for a moment that she was waking up in Paris again. This seemed too personal for a hotel room, though. She rolled over and encountered a warm body. Tony grunted in his sleep and shifted slightly before settling down again. She snuggled closer. "We need to work on talking."

He snored in response. The clock indicated that she had plenty of time to surprise him with breakfast.

Maybe they wouldn't have to talk. Not too much anyway.

The End


End file.
